'A child born to another woman calls me mummy. The magnitude of that tragedy and the depth of that privilege is not lost on me.'
England slowly sipped his tea, shutting his eyes against the welcome breeze. His dress shirt was too stuffy for this heat, and the lunch break had been more than overdue, with sleepy, sweating nations running off to shower, or dunk their heads in cold water to wake themselves up. This cafe didn't do such bad tea. Not of the quality of his own, but well enough. And they had other things to do than serve a singular customer perfect tea, he supposed. Everyone had a business to run.
"It's a beautiful day, huh?"
He opened his eyes, expecting to see Russia, but it was Ukraine, shielding her eyes against the light, coming to sit opposite him. She waved off the waitress, waiting for England's reply.
"Yes, a very beautiful day," he stated. Russia had vaguely mentioned Ukraine had acted as a mother for him in his younger years, to the best of her ability. "How are you?"
"I'm fine as one can be, nowadays. How are you?"
"I am well, enjoying the fine weather as always," England said, setting his teacup down. The two sat in an amicable silence for a little while, reveling in the good weather and cheerful people around them. There was nothing like happy humanity to raise a nation's spirits.
"Russia would like this sunshine," Ukraine commented offhandedly. England raised an eyebrow at her comment but nodded in agreement. "He likes a lot of things that are bright and sunny. He likes the warmth and the sounds of people. He likes being surrounded by people. I think it reassures him that he can still connect to humanity."
"Are you trying to tell me something, Ukraine?" asked England. Ukraine stared at him for a moment.
"The other day I called Russia's house, only to get a maid tell me that he was out. Out? With whom? Then I find it is you who has brought him from there... You who invited him into your white picket fantasy... Gave him something I couldn't, I still can't. My country wants me to break off from Russia. They want me to be part of Europe. They think this is beneficial, and it will be... But matters of the heart are not so easily resolved are they, England?"
England looked at the girl, suddenly seeing - just like him - a teenager thrust into parenthood, taking care of a child she wasn't quite sure how to, struggling to advance herself and the weight of another nation - and later on, trying to talk to those nations who left you broken. "No, Ukraine. They are not."
"If things had been just a little different... If nations weren't so cruel... Russia would have been a very different person, I believe. Someone I could have saved from the horrors of young nationhood. Someone who could have been a child instead of a nation." She smiled sadly. "It is hard to see the ones you consider children go - even harder when you have to leave them. I know what you are trying to do England, and I understand. From mother to mother, I understand. What I'm trying to say is..."
She slid a piece of paper towards him, standing up as she did so, turning away. "If I loved him any less, I wouldn't be able to break my own heart," she murmured. "I suppose this belongs to you now... And I can only hope one day he will forgive me." She walked away, disappearing into the crowd.
England picked up the paper and unfolded it. It was a sketch of a sunflower field, dated long ago, drawn in the fashion of a young child. On the back, in the same, near illegible handwriting, was written: Mother's flower field is bright and sunny!
Quietly, he refolded the paper where it was worn from folding and unfolding, by loving hands gazing at it again and again, and wondered if he had just witnessed a great sorrow or gained a massive, literal birth right.